Adventures and New Blog, literally.

I have had many adventures I've been failing to update you on.  I went to Palma de Mallorca, and once again was pleasantly surprised and impressed with Spain.  I don't know why I keep underestimating that country, I have absolutely no excuse.  Palma is a beautiful city, with Roman, Byzantine, and Islamic influences, among others.  Going for runs in Palma along the beach while the sun sets and the moon rises is something I could see myself doing happily for years.

I headed on down to Amsterdam for fermented pop-up restaurants, dining in the dark, museums of the microscopic (bacteria-themed adventures, anyone?), art, jazz, canals, nearly being run down by a cyclist eating a gourmet burger, and general hipness.  I even saw the famous (or perhaps infamous is a better word, given the recent rioting) "6 to 8 black men" that are the Dutch Santa Claus' helpers.

Looks like I'm moving from Fantoft in January (my current student housing about 20 minutes outside the center filled with typical college students behaving like typical college students) into a shared house in the Sentrum (city center).

And, I got a job.  I'm now the UiB's official international student blogger, so if you are itching for some sort of update and I'm failing to please you on this page, feel free to check out my UiB-version.  Coming soon to the UiB page - contributing to the largest (this statement is apparently contested) gingerbread city in the world!  Please try to contain your excitement.

But frankly I don't know how you can, they even have the death star:

And you know that we've got it, Death Star.

JJHO

Most of you probably know that my father and I were recently on an episode of Judge John Hodgman (JJHO).  My primary motivations for submitting a case were:

1. I would love to have my Dad visit me in Norway while I'm here and, 
2. I thought Hodgman, who loves weird Dads, would enjoy talking to my father, who is a most excellent specimen of weird Dad.  (I say he is a weird Dad with admiration.  I love his quirks, and weirdness was alway a point of pride in our family.) 

I had no hope that I could actually win this case.  The court of JJHO's precedent is you cannot force someone to like what they do not like - my Dad doesn't like the process of traveling, or do what they don't want to do - my Dad doesn't want to travel to Norway.  I was extremely nervous before and during this podcast.  I spent a long time preparing a fake itinerary of activities I thought my father might like, as well as soliciting my mother for pictures of him enjoying Europe in the past and an affidavit, only to use none of them.

I had a couple fears A) that I would embarrass myself and never want to listen to my favorite podcast again because it would be tainted (I didn't say the fears were logical), or B) that I would get shouted down (as is known to happen on the podcast).  These, along with their excellent producer Julia, asking us to not talk over each other due to Skype limitations, led me to default to my most rule-abiding ways.

I wish I hadn't been.  First, getting shouted down adds drama, and I think the Judge and Bailiff enjoy it.  I felt a little boring on the podcast and there were many points I would have wanted to raise or contest.  For example, I had planned on mentioning that a nearby Stave Church may have been burnt down by a Norwegian black metal musician referenced on an earlier JJHO, but I chickened out (mainly because I didn't think it was applicable to my father's interests, and the point was to get my father to come here).  My father characterized himself as decrepit, which is patently false.  I know he's walking 3 miles on the reg.  He also said he was anemic (he's normal, borderline low).  Also, he gave his actual age, instead of saying he's 29!  This was a shock to me, as he always says he's 29.

My father acknowledges that he has come up with some wittier responses after the fact, while I have been gaining new knowledge about Norway which I wish I could have used.  One shining example of this was brought to my attention last night.  I went to the Natural History Museum as part of Bergen's Culture Night (museums, boats, walking tours, etc, are all free for the night), and as I was wandering up the stairs, a woman poached me into an English presentation on Norwegian weddings of 200-400 years ago.

The presenter, a beautiful and engaging (and blond) Bergen native, described the inheritance of ornate wedding crowns (below) within families.  The legend goes that these extravagant items came in to lucky families if a male ancestor had married a huldra, a rich and beautiful forest woman with the tail of a cow.  Yup, she's got a cow's tail (but it falls off if they get baptized, which I found slightly disappointing).  I was told the hulder will the most beautiful women if you treat them well, and they will bare many children and work hard.  If you treat them poorly, they will be ugly.  I was also told, almost as an aside, that they may also be known to grab men and dance them to death.  You know, like you do.

      
The presenter also mentioned that if a man was very shy, he might woo a woman by carving and making a present of a wooden ironing tool.  What she said though, was if the man was very shy in lieu of wooing he can "show her his wood", and then she gestured at these carved slats (picture follows, sorry for the quality) which would be used along with what's basically a rolling pin to press the clothes.  This got a laugh only from me, perhaps I was the only native English speaker in the audience, or at least the only immature one.

I asked one of the other docents, who pulled me aside to show me her tattoo of a huldra, if she knew about the invisible witch on Fløyen.  She said she didn't because she's not local to Bergen, but told me of the legend of some trolls that live underwater in the forest ponds of the area she grew up.  I had no idea they could live underwater!

I asked our presenter as well about the invisible witch, she appeared confused and thought maybe it was more of a joke than based on local legends, saying in an off-handed way that, "Lyderhorn (mountain) is really more of the witch gathering place".  Oh, well, of course it is.  I'll be sure to report back as soon as I've visited and let you know if I meet any!

During my trip to the museum I got some IMs from my dear friend Anja.  She and her husband Thorsten, two fabulous Germans, introduced me to Schweigefox, which my Dad brought up on the episode.  In her messages she indicated she approved of the episode (see picture below), as well as sharing Schweigefox with the world.  She also told me that Thorsten asked that I add a Schweigefox entry to the English Wikipedia.  Still working on that (I don't know if Wikipedia will allow that entry) but I did put it into Urban Dictionary, which I feel is a fair start.

Sorry for the length of this entry, I want to end by expressing a huge amount of gratitude to my Dad for being willing to be on the podcast with me.  He was a great sport, he showed off a bit of his clever weirdness, and he brought up Schweigefox!  Nice work, Dad.  If you want a laugh and are curious about some of the names that were suggested for the podcast episode, check this link, there are some great suggestions, such as Sojourner v. Nojourner.  The episode was named Failure to Appear and it is linked up top, but here it is again.

The Invisible Witch, Åsane Seahawks, & Totem, Oh My.

I was going to write a blog about all about the invisible witch of Mount Fløyen, but she is a mystery I have yet to crack.  So you'll only get a taste today:

Up on the trails on top of Mount Fløyen, you may see many signs in both English and Norsk, that warn the walkers about the invisible witch.  Naturally, I found these delightful and I wanted to learn more.  Sadly an internet search turns up nothing but people posing with a wooden statue that may be the likeness of the witch herself, and pictures much like those that I took (below), of the signs themselves.  No story to be found.  I want so much for there to be a charming tale that accompanies these whimsical warnings.  My friend Diana has vowed to ask some Norwegians and says she'll report back, so stayed tuned, but in the meantime:

Perhaps even better than the mysterious invisible one...

I was just in the "Trening" center (gym) and I saw an older gentleman with a Seattle Seahawks t-shirt on.  Turns out he met a '12th man' sporting a Hawks sweatshirt on ferry heading to Vancouver, BC and inquired about it.  The 12th man gifted my new friend the shirt that brought us together.  In exchange, my new friend sent him the orange jersey of the Åsane Seahawks.  The Åsane Seahawks are an American football team from a borough of Bergen called Åsane.  Of course.  Why wouldn't Bergen have an Amerikansk Fotball Norge?

Bergen and Seattle, they're like two damp peas in a pod.

Now that I'm doing my research online, I see that the Åsane Seahawks borrowed their name and logo from Seattle.  And according to Wikipedia, "the Seahawks cheerleaders are one of the most-winning cheerleading squads in Norway the last years."  Delightfully stated.  Congratulations, Åsane Seahawks Cheerleaders!

Also, while Wilson visited we stumbled across this totem pole, gifted to Bergen from their sister city, Seattle.  The connections abound!

Fredagstacoen

This afternoon I was casually perusing the grocery store, like you do when you have no where else to be, and I noticed an abundance of Tex-Mex items on prominent display. This triggered a memory from the University of Bergen (UiB)'s introductory meetings held earlier in the week. One of the topics of the meetings had been Norwegian culture, and in this presentation it was proudly announced that Friday Night in Norway is Taco Night. Well, naturally I felt I must participate, and my flatmate agreed. We intend to repeat this tradition as often as possible on Friday nights.

I tried to find some more information about Taco Night online, but although the internet recognizes this as a phenomenon, there were not many additional details. The term, "Fredagstacoen" was mentioned by the author of the book Planet Taco, Jeffery M. Plicher, but no one online (in English anyway) seems to describe the origin of this charming custom.

In lieu of a fascinating description of how this came to be a Norwegian Tradition, please accept a couple photos of myself and my flatmate's hobo-ish attempt at Fredagstacoen. (One of these photos is especially blurry as I didn't position my fish eye correctly - sorry!)

The Garbage Master

The rumors are true, Norway is expensive. In the grocery store last night I saw a small bunch of asparagus for close to $10. You get the idea: everything costs a lot.

So naturally, there is a guy in the communist block-style student village I now call home who's forged a living out of the cast-offs of the many students coming and going. He's well known in the student village as being the person who sells virtually everything.

Seeing as how he informed me that one of the bicycles he was trying to sell me he'd fished out of a dumpster, I'll call him the Garbage Master (GM) here. (*)

I followed the GM down a strange rabbit hole of a hallway to a "storage room". Both the hallway and the room were packed full of a wide variety of furnishings, electronics, dishware, and other odds and ends. The overflow of items led to a congestion of the space, narrowing it like plaque filled arteries. This led to a comedic dance of awkwardness when another potential 'customer' wanted to pull out a mattress and try it out on the ground.

I was looking for a wireless router and a bicycle. GM moved a couch and several items to find and dig around in a box which contained not only routers, but loose knives and carving forks. Nearly grabbing the blade of a knife in the process, he told me that of course he'd have to have a friend test the routers first to see if any of them actually worked. Super. (**)

He offered me a look at some garbage-bicycles as well. Most of these were in various states of decay. 5 at time locked together, rusting on both body and chain, tires deflated, some still had locks on them from previous owners. A young student I'd met was trying one out and as she did the chain popped open and fell off the bike.

"Oh you want a bicycle that works?" He asked after I rejected one bicycle after another. Well, yeah, that'd be ideal. I get a text the next day saying if I want the black "bick" he can sell it to me. I did not recall a black bike from the day before; it turns out to be in much better repair than the others (although it still has a flat tire) and to his credit he pumps the tire and let's me try it for an entire day.

I admit I want this bike to work out. It's a cute black women's bicycle with a basket, front and rear lights, and it has fenders to keep the rain off (it rains in Bergen nearly constantly - yes, more than in Seattle). However, the gear shifter is sticky, especially at important moments like riding up Bergen's many hills. Also, it is a heavy bicycle which you brake on the back wheel by reverse pedaling, and on the front via a handbrake. This becomes important as you brake the weighty bike downhill. Let's say neither brake was perfect, but the front handbrake was especially poor. It screamed and squealed before  beginning to slowly reducing your momentum.

Bringing this issues (and a tire which had again deflated) back to him, I proposed he either reduce the cost and I could get them fixed, or he could fix them. "No, no, if I fix I charge more". He knows there's always another student willing to buy a garbage-bicycle.

Well, between that statement and that every interaction with him stretched out into a prolonged argument. "It's good, it's good." No, it's not good if the chain is so rusted through that it breaks. "It only needs oil. It's fine. It's good".  I had had enough.

So I move forward, bipedally for the moment. I'm meeting someone shortly to look at another bicycle. They live in the same block as GM, and I've checked and double-checked their phone number to make sure they don't match... but I'm still slightly concerned.

Fingers crossed. Perhaps this time, I will buy a "bick".

* Just for clarity, I'll mention here GM is not Norwegian, and by and large the Norwegians I've met so far have been sweet, friendly, helpful and excellent at speaking English

** In case you're itching to know, the router, after many days of difficulty and the GM's friend having to take it and work on it at home, seems to be at least semi-functional at the time of this report.